'Tis (Not Quite) the Season

Snowflakes in the air,
beauty everywhere,
Yuletide by the fireside
and joyful memories there…
—A Charlie Brown Christmas

The first snow has just fallen—this year it waited politely until December to make an appearance. Christmas, on the other hand, invaded the stores and airwaves at least a month ago. Here’s one of my favorite cartoons by Sandra Boynton, showing Thanksgiving symbols exiting the stage as Santa and his reindeer come dancing in. I guess these days you would have to replace her pilgrims and turkey with ghosts and jack-o-lanterns.

As I mentioned in my last post, I’ve always been staunchly against hauling out the holly before December. “To everything there is a season” after all, and I’ve always felt that you dilute and diminish Christmas by stretching it out past its time.

When our kids were young we started a tradition of waiting until after St. Nicholas Day (Dec. 6) to get our tree. We'd tramp through the snow at the tree farm until we found "the one" (usually too big for our space but who can tell when they’re all standing together in a field?). Then out came the Bing Crosby and Raffi Christmas tapes, along with the special mugs for eggnog (all three of the boys just loved that stuff!)

We’d spend the rest of the day decorating the tree with popcorn, candy canes and our beloved (sometimes bedraggled) collection of ornaments, accumulated through

the years and all reflecting the era in which they were made or purchased. Dinosaurs, pinecone carolers, Bert and Ernie, Cub Scout woodcarvings, Ninja Turtles—they’ve all had their moments basking in the glow of our Christmas tree lights. Here's our youngest son, David, with his very first tree. (Hey, don't mock the acid wash jeans—it was the 80s, after all.)

We managed to keep up this homespun tradition right through the teenage years and beyond. But with all three kids now living in other states, Jim and I expected this to be the year we finally had to face the end of it. I pictured the two of us wandering into Home Depot a few days before Christmas, listlessly choosing a crooked, dried-out tree someone else had cut down months ago and shipped here via semi-truck. I certainly wasn't in any hurry for that particular scenario.

But it seems we still have one Christmas ace in the hole. The only son close enough to come home for Thanksgiving, David rolled out of bed that Saturday morning, rummaged through the closet for some boots and gloves, and announced that it was time to go get our tree.
The good thing about your traditions is that they belong to you completely. You can turn, twist and tweak them any way you want. So out the window went “not until December” and off we went to the tree farm. Almost as sentimental as his mom, David wanted the whole experience, just as it had been every year since he was born (although Bing got passed over in favor of Sarah McLaughlin and the Charlie Brown soundtrack—sorry, Bing!). Because of him we have another happy "Tree Day" to add to our collection.

Now he’s back at school for a few more weeks, and the tree (just the right size for a change) stands sparkling in the window, loaded with twinkly lights and cherished memories. It’s a little early, but that's okay. For me the tree holds the promise and anticipation of all the family gatherings yet to come, and the sense of joy and wonder I feel at getting ready for Christmas, when we welcome the most treasured guest of all:

Make your house fair as you are able,

Trim the hearth and set the table.

People, look east and sing today:

Love, the guest, is on the way.

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--French Christmas carol

Words and music by Eleanor Farjeon, 1928

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